


Such A Strange Shape

by craneboi



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Hate to Love, I'm Bad At Tagging, Insecurity, M/M, My First Fanfic, One Shot, Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz Fluff, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 07:11:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16012892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craneboi/pseuds/craneboi
Summary: Triangle, square, circle, square, triangle. The only pattern ever writtenPete Wentz is done with living alone. He's done with living at all.He goes to a cafe and writes a note to the soul-mate he'll never meet. But a waiter notices a saddened shift in tone and decides to chat.Pete may find something to live for after all.





	Such A Strange Shape

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has mentions of suicide, but no actions to it. This has been your warning.  
> I don't really understand how tagging works lmao but I did my best.

Shapes. Why were you always drawing shapes? Little patterns that blemish my skin. Not that my tattoos don't already. But your stupid little patterns ran up and down my hands and arms. You didn't know about my tattoos, though. You just kept drawing under them.

I wish I could just write on my arm and tell you to stop. But the 'rules' show I can't. Some bullshit about 'Thou shalt not write messages to thy soulmate.' Trust me, though; if I could, I would. It's always the same pattern, and it drives me crazy. Triangle, square, circle, square, triangle. Always symmetrical, in perfect little straight lines. It pushes my sanity to its limits.

You're the reason I used to get bullied in school. When that first poorly drawn triangle popped up in the fifth grade, I was excited. Other boys and girls already had pictures drawn to them; cats, dogs, airplanes, rocketships, stars, etc.

But not me. No, I had triangles. Then squares. And finally, a circle in the middle. And then? Repetition. It repeated again, and again, and again. You could get what you wanted, but it was never enough.

In high school, people were meeting their soul mates. Girls and boys, noticing their penmanship on each other. It was useless to date outside whoever was drawing on your arm. So, I was alone. No one left to care for the boy with shapes.

I had no talent in drawing. When your shapes became steady and perfect, I felt bad. Jealous, even. I drew you spirals and lines; all crossing in different directions. Never with a steady hand, but always thoughtfully made. For you, I drew different things. For me, you repeated your pattern-like mantra.

They always made comments. Stupid nicknames that didn't make any sense. But I let them beat me down. Let them make me hate you. 

You must be perfect, soulmate. Your shapes were always one inch tall, one inch long, and one inch apart. Your patterns beckoned my insanity, but I know now that it was not repetition. It was simply beautiful; I was not.

And then, they stopped. You stopped drawing your drawings. I don't know what happened.

I was free at last. But I missed it. I finally got what I wished for, not what I wanted. And I miss it. I miss you.

I hope you find this note as some explanation to what happened, because I'm tired of being alone. I love you, perfect stranger.  
~P.L.K.W.III

-

I finish the note by the time my coffee gets here. 

"Author at work?" I realize the waiter is questioning me.

"No, I was writing a letter to-" I stop myself, "to... someone."

He notices my tone change to something sad. He sighs and leans down closer to me, his glasses slipping down his nose a bit. "I don't know you and you don't know me, but do you want to talk about it? Or just anything, really? Sometimes it helps talking to someone you may never see again. You... you seem like you might need it. My break is in five," he finishes. After I don't answer for a second, he says, "I'll let you think on it." He leave to go pour coffee for other patrons. I wipe sweat off my face. Maybe I do need to talk to someone.

In a few minutes, he's already back. Minus the apron.

"So," he starts, swirling a straw in the tea he brought with him. "What's bothering you?"

"Soulmate stuff... It's really stressful, you know?"

"Nah," he says nonchalantly, while staring into his drink. "Haven't met mine."

"That's my problem! I haven't either, and I'm almost thirty," I groan. He looks up, surprised. 

"Really? You could easily pass as not much older than me!" His eyes are wide.

I laugh at his expression; it's kinda cute. "How old are you?"

"Don't you know its rude to ask someone their age?" He mocks. "I'm 23."

"Wow, you look mature for someone so young," I say with interest.

He chuckles; a cute noise that turns his ears a little red. "If I knew I was gonna get hit on by an old fart like you, I would've made myself look younger." 

"Hey! I'm only 28," I protest. "I'm pretty sure looking younger would not help your case, anyway."

We burst out in laughter, earning dirty looks from the other patrons. The boy turns best red and quiets himself.

After a few moments, he asks, "why were you all sad earlier?"

"My soulmate stopped drawing a few months ago. They used to draw these," I wave my hands around with exasperation," stupid little patterns that drove me nuts." I collect myself and continue, "but now that they've stopped, well I- I kind of miss it." I look down. I tried to be as truthful as possible with him while leaving the note out.

"Maybe you should write them a note. You know, on your body." I consider his suggestion. "But like, out of pictures. Obviously," he adds, hurriedly.

"That's... That's not a bad idea." I smile at him. "Thanks..." I trail off, at loss for his name.

"Patrick," he obliges.

"Thanks, Patrick." His watch beeps. 

"I guess my break is up. Catch you some othe time?" 

"Maybe," I reply with a small smile. He disappears behind door and I leave my money and tip on the table. I told up the note I was writing. It may be useless now, but you never know.

I hurry home, excited to write the note. I decide on what to write, but where...?

Suddenly, an idea hits. I roll up my shirt and undo my pants a bit. On my abdomen, right above my tattoo, I write the male and female signs. I hope they're a boy.

-

I wake up the next morning with an answer. They are a boy. I write the boy sign again, hoping they'll get that I'm a boy too.

I decide to go to the coffee shop again after a shower and some questionaire on my stomach. 

Other than him being a boy, I found out that he likes glasses and hats, reading, he lives in Illinois too, and that he likes tea more than coffee. When I took a shower, I scrubbed the questions off my stomach.

I walk in and sit in the seat I was at yesterday, and wait for Patrick. 

"Howdy, stranger. Same as yesterday, I presume?" I smile and nod as he walks off.

When he comes back with my coffee, he says, "You seem chipper. Did my advice work?"

"Yes, it did. Thank you so much." He glances at the fairly empty diner, and sits down across from me.

"What'd you learn?" He asks, curiosity blazing in his eyes.

"He's from around here," I say, trying to mask my excitement.

"Oooooh, a he?" I blush a bit.

"Yeah, maybe I'll sweep him off his feet. I'll be his knight in shining armor."

"I wish I had a guy like that," Patrick whispers, probably thinking I couldn't hear.

I reach my hand across the table and take his. "You'll meet your guy. We both will." I take out a pen and write my name and number very sloppily on him.

"Patrick, get back to work!" Someone yells, startling us both. He gets up quickly and swoops behind the counter, grabbing a coffee pot. He makes his way around the diner, pouring coffee and taking orders. I totally don't stare at his ass while he does.

I finish my coffee and leave money and a tip again. Right before I leave, I turn around to see Patrick waving. I put my hand up to my face like a phone and mouth 'call me' before leaving. 

After I got home, I took off my jacket. That's when I noticed it. A number, my number, sketched sloppily on my arm. And it hits me like a truck. Patrick is my soulmate, and I am his. So I devise a plan.

-

Patrick called at 6 p.m. to say he was off work.I nonchalantly asked if he wanted to come over. Luckily, he said yes. I texted him my address and told him to come at 8.

Of course, I hear him knock at 7:55. I open the door and smile. 

"Hi, Pete."

"Hi, Patrick," I say back, smiling even bigger. He walks in the door.

"So," he starts. 

I chuckle, "Wanna watch some Netflix?" 

"Sure!" I gesture him to my couch and hand him the remote.

"Here, you pick. Ill make us some tea and grab snacks." 

He sits down and makes himself comfortable. I yell from the kitchen that he can put his shoes and coat anywhere, so naturally he goes to the coat rack to put up his shoes and coat. The he sits down, I come in with snacks. I go back to the kitchen and grab the tea, making sure it isn't too hot. Don't want to burn him, do we?

I walk to the living room and set a cup down. I go to give him the other, but I 'stumble' and spill it on him. His face goes red in embarrassment. 

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to. I just- I tripped and-" I stutter before he cuts me off. 

"It's okay, Pete. Nothing I can't wash."

"Do you want to wash it here? You can borrow something of mine to wear while you wait."

"Okay, yeah. Don't want to let the stain set." I go off and grab a shirt of mine. 

When I get back, I hand him the shirt I picked. He looks at me nervously before deciding to take off his shirt. . I advert my eyes, but snicker when I see the drawing on his stomach. A big red arrow pointing at his crotch with a smiley face liking it's lips.

He looks at me, upset, but I point to his stomach.

"Yeah, I get it. I'm fat," he says without looking at his stomach.

"What? No- wha- never! I'd never think you're fat. Patrick, look down. There's a drawing on your stomach."

I suddenly feel very guilty for doing this stupid trick.

I walk over to him and hug him. I don't even care that he's shirtless. "Trick, why would you ever think you're fat?"

"Because I am..."

I look him in the eyes. "No, you aren't." He doesn't look like he believes me. I move my face. "No," I kiss his collar bone. "You," I kiss his chest. "Aren't," I kiss his stomach. I then go back to hugging him. 

I finally let go of a very flustered version of him, and take his shirt to the laundry room. On my way back, I stop to wash that stupid drawing off my stomach.

When I get back, I see a , now fully clothed, Patrick- reading a folded up note.

He hears me come in and looks up. "Pete, your my-"

"Yeah," I say sheepishly.

"You knew?"

"Yes, but I only figured it out today."

He hesitates before his next question. "Yesterday you were going to-" 

Darn my need to date letters. "Before I met you, yeah. I was."

He comes over to hug me, but stops dead in his tracks. "Wait, that means you drew that thing on my- Pete, did you plan this?!"

I whisper, "Maybe..."

"Well geez," he says, astonished. "If you wanted to suck me off that bad then you should've asked."

Now it's my turn to look astonished. 

"I'm kidding, Peter." He hugs me. "I think I'm in love with you," he whispers as if everything in in the room were listening. He made sure only I heard it. 

"I think I'm in love with you, too." I lift him off his feet, picking him up bridal style. "Now lets go watch Netflix and cuddle." I carry him to the couch.

"Hey, Pete?" He asks after a bit.

"Yeah?" I turn my head to face his.

"Can I stay the night?"

I just kiss him in response.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, I'm sorry it's so short. My house doesn't have internet right now so I'm typing this word-for-word off my computer to my phone. Oof.  
> Anyway, I hope you guys like it. I want to get more fics started on here, more than just one-shots, but I'm testing the waters. I know it won't be too successful, but I hope someone at least reads it.  
> Until next time,  
> -Seb (@crane.boi on Instagram)


End file.
